


Mortal Liminality, Volume Two

by 3RatMoon



Series: A Case Study on the Space Between Life and Death Post-Erasure [1]
Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Drug Use, Ghost Arrell, Ghosts, M/M, Pre-Seasons of Hieron
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2018-12-29 19:55:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12092280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3RatMoon/pseuds/3RatMoon
Summary: Exarch Alyosha is on a sabbatical in Rosemerrow, but he is distracted from his initial research when he learns that the apartment in Wistful Peaks where he is staying is far from unoccupied.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fandom needs a Ghost AU, and I guess I am the fool who is going to write it!

It all started with the shelf.

Alyosha had been staying in the apartment in Wistful Peaks for a couple months before he put wood scrap to wall so he had a place to put a glass of water at night. The healer had said that proper hydration would help with the dizzy spells, and Alyosha woke frequently in the morning or even the middle of the night with a scratchy throat and papery lips. It was very useful, but the cup always looked lonely on the shelf, so he added a scrap of pottery he found but didn’t know what to do with, then a riverstone he had forgotten in his pockets, then a couple coins stamped with an unfamiliar mark. Making that shelf had been the first thing that made the Exarch feel at home, a thing rarely felt by a man who had been wandering since he was a child. 

Then, one night, he was awoken by the sound of his glass shattering on the floor. He stared out into the darkness of the night, his heart pounding, but nothing stirred in the stillness of his room except his blankets where they laid over his heaving chest. Eventually, he lit a candle so he could clean up the mess, sweeping up the shards of glass with a small sadness. He didn’t keep any glassware beyond the now-broken cup, and using it every night must have made him careless, placing it too close to the edge of the shelf.

After that night, he drank from a tin cup that he normally used when he travelled. The water tasted of metal, and though he was startled the first time it fell from his shelf with a clatter, it didn’t break. Rather than getting up to clean up the shards, he just mopped the water with a rag and refilled the cup. It was simple enough he could do it half-asleep, and often he did, because it seemed that he was waking up to the sound of metal on stone more and more as the weeks went on. Sometimes, it happened when Alyosha was certain that he had put the cup far from the edge of the shelf, nestled in with the other trinkets he left there.

Was it a cat? Even though Alyosha never saw anything during the night, it was a warm summer in Rosemerrow, and he often kept a window cracked open for the drafts that swept through the towers of Wistful Peaks. He made a small bed in the corner of the apartment, and eventually food and water, but there were no answering creatures save for ants.

It was all this that Alyosha wrote down in his letters. He had a fondness for the written word, and it is the nature of an Exarch to make friends in many places. These were to the Prelate who raised him, who appreciated knowing the small details of Alyosha’s life as well as being open to discuss Alyosha’s questions, and Alyosha wrote both observation and theory about the cup that kept falling even as he kept putting it back.

It wasn’t common for Alyosha to leave a letter sitting for several days. Words were like fire in him, keeping him at his desk for hours at a time, folding the parchment almost before the ink had even dried so it could be sent. But this story intrigued him so much that he put it off, writing a little bit at a time as he thought on what this new nighttime ritual meant.

That little change, leaving his letter out with his pen and ink on the ancient desk that came with the apartment, is what gave Alyosha his biggest fright yet.

In the morning, the priest stood up to check his notes; he was trying to determine a pattern for the cup, including at least seven factors that he was considering as potential causes. It was a little silly to him, but it was entertaining between the long days of aiding the local Prelate in his research, which was supposed to be the Exarch’s reward for his work on the islands north of Velas, but was ultimately starting to bore him.

This time, however, Alyosha’s hand merely hovered above the paper, until the shaking finally dislodged the reed pen from his grasp and it fell to his desk, splattered circles of ink spreading across his words.

No, not just his words.

In a hand rougher and thinner than his, the remaining space on the page was filled with large, shaky letters.

 

_ GET OUT. _

 

Alyosha didn’t come back to his apartment until the late afternoon. He considered asking for more work elsewhere in the church when the Prelate found himself out of tasks early in the morning. But as he thought it over, his heart no longer pounding and hands only at their usual tremor, Alyosha realized that he would rather face his possibly-haunted living space in the light of the sun.

He spent the rest of his day combing the church’s modest library for material regarding ghosts. Fortunately, his research was assumed by the scribes to be for the Prelate as usual, and he was unbothered, but unfortunately, his search came up with very little. This wasn’t a surprise; even those with the authority to keep knowledge seemed almost loathe to seek it out. The Exarch made plans to visit the outpost from the New Archives later.

Eventually, that left him nothing but to return to his apartment.

He wasn’t sure what he expected to find when he opened the door. More writing? His things upturned? A vengeful spectre there to punish him for not heeding its command? The writing gone as if only part of a fever dream?

Regardless, what Alyosha found was everything just as he had left it, from his unmade bed to his cup on the shelf, to the written warning scrawled across his letter.

Looking down at the parchment, he found an odd idea coming to mind. Slowly, he sat down, put his old draft aside, pulled out a blank page, and began to write.

>  
> 
> ~~_ Dear Apparition, _ ~~

 

No, that wasn’t right.

 

> ~~_ To the Possible Ghost of this Apartment, _ ~~

 

No, not that, either.

It took Alyosha the rest of the afternoon to write something to his satisfaction. He considered fleeing to have dinner elsewhere in town, but eventually as he calmed, he settled on the modest fare he kept at home. It was a meal indistinguishable from traveling rations except for some fresh figs from the market, and oddly calming in its nostalgia. He wrote to a friend in Kanton as he ate, then settled to read in bed as the sun set and night crept in on the city. He still glanced at the desk, as if expecting to catch the ghost in the act, but his fatigue worked to his advantage, and he was able to sleep.

 

> _ To Whom I Am Unwittingly An Unwelcome Guest, _
> 
> _ I want to sincerely apologize for displeasing you with my presence in your home. To be honest, this is as unusual for me as it possibly is for you. _
> 
> _ Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Alyosha, Northern Exarch of the Creed of Samothes. I came to Rosemerrow to aid Prelate Petro in some of his research as a kind of sabbatical. Exarchs rarely settle for longer than a couple weeks in any one place, otherwise. Whatever the reason, I would normally stay in the church, but they are under construction, making their capacity much less than it would be. I was offered use of this apartment on the coin of the church, which is unusual to me, but support of the economy is the way of showing appreciation in Rosemerrow, I think, and I am not anything if not flexible to the environments I find myself in. _
> 
> _ That brings me to my point. I would like to show you appreciation for tolerating my presence for as long as you have. You were the one toppling my cup from the shelf every other night, were you not? You did that for weeks before being more straightforward with me, and completely silent for weeks before that. _
> 
> _ I will be honest, I am invested in being allowed to stay, but I will put that aside for now. If you can, tell me if there is any way in which I can make reparations for upsetting you. Only after I have repaid that debt will I ask about the future of my stay here. _
> 
> _ May The Sun Always Light Your Path, _
> 
> _ E. Alyosha _

 

Alyosha woke early the next morning, and just about sprang out of bed to see how his letter had been received. And it had been received! There in the blank space at the bottom of the page again was that spidery hand.

 

> _ E.A.- _
> 
> _ Do not try to placate me with your play as a man of the Creed. Your god is nothing to me. The way you soil my instruments and rearrange my books shows you know nothing. Put them back in order and I will consider not thrusting you from this place! _
> 
> _ -T.A. _

 

Alyosha did not know if he was more excited and afraid. He sprung from his seat to where the landlady had put the belongings of the previous tenant aside, instruments of glass and metal and several books. He knew he had picked up some of them, curious about the material, and if he could remember where they had been set before…

He didn’t realize how absorbed he was until he was nearly late, and he rushed out to the church without so much as breaking his fast. Prelate Petro didn’t have much for him once more, which allowed him some time to recover, but he still arrived back at the apartment early that afternoon moody and off-balance. He should have known better; keeping his schedule was one of the easiest ways to control his fatigue, and he’d thrown all of that off because of that letter…

The letter. There was more writing again.

 

> _ “The Northwest Bestiary” goes BEFORE “Wu And The Theory Of Time As Space.” MOVE IT. _

 

Alyosha eyed the shelves. He wasn’t completely sure about the order he had left the books in, but he thought he had remembered the Bestiary being flush with the right side… Still, he got up and moved it as he was instructed, over two spaces, so that it was to the left of  _ Wu And the Theory Of Time As Space _ .

Alyosha stepped back cautiously. Some part of him expected to feel something, like intent shifting the air, but there was nothing.

 

It wasn’t until later, as Alyosha fussed with the coals in the strange, tiny hearth so he could make his tea for the night, that he jumped nearly out of his skin at a sudden rattle from his shelf. He glanced between the coals and his shelf, thoughts numbed by the fright, until the shelf thumped and rattled again, prompting him to rush over. He was confused when nothing had been shifted more than a couple centimeters, but then he noticed that there was more writing on the desk.

 

> _ FOOL, I said move “Wu And the Theory Of Time As Space,” NOT “The Northwest Bestiary.” Fix it! _

 

The Exarch felt a flush of confusion and irritation rise in his face, and he mumbled a “My apologies,” to the air as he stumbled to the shelf to fix his apparently grievous error. He had the impression that appeasing a spirit was going to be difficult, but it felt less like he was interpreting the faint messages from beyond and more like he was being pushed around by a petulant superior.

Alyosha crouched by the shelves again, feeling his knees protest (one of the many reasons why he never took much time to look it over before now) starting to pick up the bestiary again before pausing. Most of the books were in the modern common tongue, so he had assumed that there wasn’t any particular pattern to their arrangement, but if he looked at them right to left…

“Do you…” the priest started to speak out loud, before stopping and going back to his desk.

It took him several moments to pull the dusty knowledge from his memory, but as he wrote, the strokes started to come back to him, an arrangement of syllabic letters from right to left in the form of a question.

 

> _ Is your shelf sorted according to the Old Tongue? _

 

Alyosha paused, glancing between the parchment and the bookshelves, then remembered the hearth. Hopefully the ghost would be patient enough to allow him to make his tea before demanding action on their books– the kneeling was worsening the ache and it was making him irritable.

As he worked, he could have sworn he heard something like a scoff over the boiling water.

 

Alyosha didn’t get a response until much later. He didn’t know if it was that evening or later during the night; as he should have expected, the tea lessened the pain, which allowed the fatigue to rush up to meet him until he had fallen asleep half sitting-up in bed, the book he was reading still open on his lap. He woke drowsy, the fragments of a strange dream clinging to him. Something about a tower with a ladder clinging to the side, looking down and the sheer heights making him dizzy…

Almost out of habit, the Exarch stumbled out of bed and to the desk, checking for any writing. And there was, though still in Common.

 

> _ Your hand is atrocious. Are you going to fix the books? _

 

Alyosha couldn’t help but make a face. What arrogance...  Still, there was an implied affirmative in the response, and so the priest shuffled sleepily back to his bed to retrieve a cushion so he could better sit in front of the bookshelves.

Yes… as he suspected, the books were more or less arranged alphabetically according to the Old Tongue, letter by letter ordered with their equivalents, right to left and top to bottom. The simple exercise was enough to clear the rest of the dreamy fog from Alyosha’s mind, and he left the apartment awake and confident in his success.

Two of Prelate Petro’s awaited shipments arrived at the same time that day, and Alyosha was kept until later in the evening. The Exarch joined the rest of the clergy for dinner, a pleasure he didn’t take often. High Sun Day was approaching, filling the church with a bustle of excitement. Younger clerics were badgering the Prelate about his plans for the sermon this year, to which he demurred.

“Every lesson starts the same,” he said, “With the rising of the Sun.”

Alyosha left at dusk, yawning as he unlocked the door. He was startled to find a candle was lit on his desk, but there was nothing else disturbed in the room; even the space below his latest exchange with T.A. was blank. Confused, Alyosha simply undressed and went to bed.

He was somewhere between waking and sleeping when he heard a voice, as clear as if spoken from his bedside.

_ “Where did you go?” _

The Exarch shot straight up like he had the night his glass broke, eyes searching the room. It was dark, but the light of the full moon was shining in through the eastward facing window, painting a broad stripe of silver across the floor and over his little shelf.

Was it a vision? For a moment, his tin cup shone translucent like crystal. The colours on the pottery were bright and clear, a delicate curling vine with pink and orange buds. The symbols on the coins were clean of dirt and wear, a hammer on one side and a goblet on the other. 

Then– there! A movement in the light!

But Alyosha turned to look, and he saw nothing. When he looked back at his shelf, everything there was as it had always been, no flowers on the pottery nor crisp stamp on the coins. He looked around the room and saw he was alone. The only sound in his ears was his own ragged breathing.

Alyosha eventually fell back asleep, but not before he reached out to the shelf, grasping the cup with a trembling hand, and draining it.

It made him feel a little better.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the kudos everyone. <3 I appreciate your support as I continue to spin this story out of thin air pretty much!

Alyosha forgot about that night and its silvery visions for a while as he and T.A. settled into a kind of routine. The ghost never actually thanked him for rearranging his shelves, and they never discussed further requirements to the Exarch’s tenancy. Instead, T.A. left small quips and edits on just about everything Alyosha wrote, from letters to personal notes to dissertations. Most times, they were a demand to move this or get rid of that, or close the window, or leave the inkpot open so he could write. But every once in a while, something of the spirit’s previous life would shine through. After the expected scuffle over religion, T.A. offered unique insight to the theories and histories Alyosha worked on, including references to books the priest had never heard of before. Alyosha started to slowly work through the ghost’s personal collection, and notes would squeeze into the already-busy margins referring to their previous conversations.

One night, Alyosha wrote to T.A., smiling to himself.

 

> _ You certainly have a passion for knowledge and teaching others. _

 

Later, the ghost responded:

 

> _ You’re hardly the first to notice that about me. I was named Tutor, after all. _

 

Alyosha’s eyes lit up at that. “Tutor…” he said aloud to himself. He wondered if that was the “T” in their signature. What would the “A” be?

With everyday conversation moving to the margins, Alyosha’s proper letters to T.A. grew longer and more detailed. Their relationship blossomed there, in discussions of history, magic, the workings of the world and the physicality of gods. Alyosha hadn’t felt this engaged since he was a boy first feeling his calling to the Creed, and slowly his fear began to fade. His irritation, too. T.A. seemed to become more coherent over time, and though Alyosha never read any confirmation, he suspected the spirit was slowly becoming more “himself”, like someone waking from a disorienting sleep.

It took much of this time before the Exarch could gain access to the materials at the Rosemerrow outpost of the New Archives. He had to have his credentials confirmed by the Office of Authentic Documents, notarized by the Office of Notation, and then finally reviewed and approved by the Board of Visitation and Outside Borrowers, which ultimately meant a lot of postage and a lot of time spent waiting. Alyosha wasn’t even sure if at at the end of all this the outpost would have the material he was looking for, or if he would have to send even more letters to try to win an exchange from the New Archives itself.

In the end, Alyosha shouldn’t have even been worried. It merely took a question to one of the archivists, a dark teal orc with bright eyes and what seemed to be a fondness for buttons, and the Exarch was lead to a book on Pre-Erasure institutions of learning. Alyosha wouldn’t have thought this book to be a source on ghosts, but the archivist flipped to the back, then to a section on a place called Memoriam College. There, Alyosha was amazed to find, were countless entries on former graduates, professors, and staff, many of them attending from beyond the grave.

“This is amazing!” Alyosha said, unable to contain his excitement.

The corners of the archivist’s eyes crinkled. “Everyone who comes here from outside the Archives says that,” they replied, “That being said, I don’t think I’ll ever tire of hearing it.”

Alyosha came back to the apartment that day flush with achievement, laying out his notes to read over with Tutor. The ghost clearly could see and hear and understand him, so he babbled excitedly, pointing out particular details.

“Many of these people had a visible form as ghosts, and most of the time were capable of magic, especially if they were powerful wizards before they died. Isn’t that amazing? It’s possible that you’re capable of the same thing! A lot has changed since the College was around, but you’re clearly knowledgeable in advanced magic, so I’m confident that you could do the same.”

Alyosha continued like that into the evening, drafting ideas and exchanging notes with Tutor until he caught himself nodding off at his desk. He blinked blearily at the notes under his hands, where a new line of ink sat, still drying.

 

> _ You should sleep, Pupil. _

 

Alyosha smiled drowsily. “Fair enough,” he answered out loud, and stood up from the desk, sighing as his knees complained at the new angle after so long sitting. The Exarch, far from feeling the need to be graceful in a ghost’s presence, shuffled stiffly to his bed, shedding his outer robes along the way. He all but collapsed, asleep before he even had time to think deeply about his new title.

The next morning, there was tea waiting for him at his desk. Somehow, it didn’t occur to him that he had woken several days to tea at his desk already, until he saw a note next to the saucer.

 

> _ You seem to be out. _

 

Alyosha made a thoughtful sound. “I’ll have to make time to see the healers, today. I don’t normally let myself run so low.” He was clearly a bit preoccupied lately…

For a moment, he felt a shift of air; cool, very unlike the warm, damp winds prevalent so close to High Sun Day. But Alyosha looked, and as usual, there was nothing. So, he broke his fast, and drank the tea, and read what Tutor had written for him during the night.

 

> _ E. Alyosha- _
> 
> _ The notes you returned with this afternoon are thin, but they seem so much more after so long with nothing, much like I imagine soup to a starving man would seem like a feast. It’s a pity that you were not allowed to leave with the book itself, as I would much like to see it myself. _
> 
> _ As you said before, it is uncertain how much of what is detailed in these books are true, much less hold up Post-Erasure. However, it does provide an interesting lead: The book mentioned in Bolster Valentine’s entry, “Mortal Liminality: On the Space Between Life and Death,” sounds like precisely the tome we are looking for, but likely a challenge to find. I was once an expert in these matters, but now it tires me just to pick up this pen and write because of this blasted spectral form! _
> 
> _ Anecdotally, I know that my ability to interact with the physical world is improving. I am less tired, my thoughts are clearer. Study is my preferred way of learning, but things are moving even as we stay still. We may know if I am capable of casting spells again in practice even before we reach that knowledge in theory. _

 

Alyosha continued to read as Tutor spiralled off onto other topics, smiling to himself. Already thoughts were gathering in his head for a response, and the Exarch would have been more tempted to start if not for his duties that day. The scribes had confirmed that High Sun Day would be in the next week, so the scramble to prepare had truly begun. And now, because of his negligence, he would also have to find some sliver of time to visit the healers as well…

Alyosha’s eye caught the postscript on Tutor’s letter for just a moment, long enough for him to forget the paragraph he still had left to read.

 

> _ P.S. I realize now that we never discussed much in the ways of your ailments. You are thin and tire easily, and your teas are labeled for easement of pain. You have a cane next to the desk as well. Have you seen an arcane healer or only herbalists? Once I have a grasp of working spells again, I may be of assistance. _

 

Alyosha felt a flush of anger in his face and, without much thought, he picked up his pen and wrote an immediate reply:

 

> _ Tutor, I had expected you to have better manners. Perhaps if you had used your knowledge somewhere other than guessing my ailments, you might have concluded that whatever treatments you may suggest I have already tried. If I could be so bold, I would suggest not speaking too far outside of your specialty. _

 

After that, Alyosha had to leave to the church, which was fortunate enough. The walk calmed him, and so did meeting with Prelate Petro. In order to give him time to organize preparations, Alyosha lead the prayers that day. It was a minor day of the week, with few attendees, but it was enough for the Exarch to recenter himself. He saw his path clearly again, away from the busy brambles of the past weeks. Even though it meant that he needed to rush to meet the healers afterwards, Alyosha took a little time to himself to commune with his Lord, in thankfulness, and to ask for guidance in keeping this clarity with him.

Alyosha would later look back on that request, unsure what response he had received.

The healing house welcomed him as he entered, the person stationed at the door noticing his flushed face and heavy breathing and asking if he needed assistance.

“I’m quite alright,” Alyosha wheezed, “I was only rushing.”

Of course the healer who had worked with him the most, a halfling roughly seven years his senior named Hemlock, heard the fuss and demanded to give him a once-over while his teas were prepared.

“Deep, slow breaths, Exarch Alyosha! I need to make sure your heart doesn’t sound like a bounding rabbit when it’s at rest, too!” they demanded.

Alyosha suppressed a laugh, focusing on his breathing, but still smiled. Hemlock was one of the better healers he had worked with, all the better considering his more lengthy stay in the city. As he sat and waited for his heart to slow, they checked his eyes and teeth and pressed their fingers lightly against his throat and under his arms.

“Still not able to put on weight?” they asked. With his robes open to Hemlock’s poking and prodding, his thinness was even more apparent.

“So it has been for years, Hemlock. I’m not sure even a feast orchestrated by every grandparent in Rosemerrow could get me to,” Alyosha responded, grinning.

Hemlock laughed, wagging a finger. “You would be surprised!” But they did not press the matter, and that is what Alyosha appreciated about them.

After Hemlock was able to confirm that the Exarch’s resting heart rate was the same as before, ear pressed to his chest, they moved to check his knees, feeling the undoubtedly horrendous creaking as they bent and extended each leg.

“Nothing new, lucky for you,” they commented, “So the tea is still working well for you?”

“Oh quite, thank you,” Alyosha answered.

“Have you been getting enough sleep? I know you’re the Northern Exarch, and High Sun Day is nigh upon us, but it seems a poor gift to the Undying Fire if you were to exhaust yourself.”

Alyosha laughed at that. “Oh believe me, I can recite nearly every verse extolling the virtues of rest and admonishing overwork. Still, I have been neglectful…”

“You do look more tired than usual. Staying up late with your books again? Or having trouble sleeping?”

Alyosha nodded. “I have been caught up in studies, and a few dreams have woken me in the night…” he trailed off, that silvery night coming to mind again. “...Strange dreams…”

The Exarch looked to realize that some of the smile had fallen from Hemlock's face. “I see… I know that dreams are a thing one would normally go to the church for, but if you continue having strange dreams, or see or hear things that may not be there… I would like you to come to us. It is rare, but the teas that I give you can sometimes stimulate the mind in strange ways… cause waking dreams, sometimes sleepwalking…”

Alyosha wasn’t sure if Hemlock had trailed off, or if he had stopped listening. All he could think of was the dreams, the nights waking to the rattle of his shelf, the letters… 

Tutor… 

He hadn’t even considered…

Alyosha came back to himself with a start, realizing Hemlock had said his name. The healer was looking at him with grave concern.

“Exarch… you have been having more than strange dreams, haven’t you?”

 

Alyosha arrived back at his apartment with scarcely a memory of how he got back there. Indeed, he felt like he was sleepwalking, satchel clutched in his hand. The preparation for him was different, a less effective blend that he grew up with, but the concern about his dreams was too great to continue with the infusion he was drinking before. He looked up at the sky as he unlocked his door, trying to ground himself. The sun was setting, casting the city pink and gold with the beginnings of a lavender dusk on the edges. It was beautiful, but the dreamlike quality of it just made Alyosha more uneasy.

He gave the desk a wide berth, undressing and readying for bed before his usual time. He brought a piece of bread with him in a half-hearted attempt to eat, reading from a book of minor teachings by some of the first Prelates to the south. It had been his personal reading before everything, lying unopened on his shelf for what must have been weeks.

Eventually, as the dusk deepened and night finally began to settle in, Alyosha was forced to get up and go to the desk so he could light a candle. When he did, he couldn’t help but be drawn to the letters, though his eyes flinched away in fear at the same time. When he finally looked, he saw that there wasn’t any writing after his response that morning.

Alyosha wasn’t sure what to feel.

He went to his bed, but caught himself rereading the same sentence several times. He sighed in frustration. He wouldn’t have gone to the desk at all if he didn’t feel the need to continue reading after sunset, and yet now that he had, he could hardly read for his distraction! He set his book down. Clearly, staying up would only continue to hurt him in the long run.

Still, when he leant to where the candlestick sat on the shelf to blow out the flame, his gaze flickered to the desk one last time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the chapter of "Petition Austin Walker for more details about the Creed of Samothes, I'm making up so much, help me"
> 
> Now that I think I have a solid understanding of where this story is going, I'm gonna bump the rating up to T lol
> 
> Thanks again for all of the support!!

Alyosha woke early and tired, the coming dawn a mere wash of blue on the horizon. He slept dreamless but fitful, the anxieties carried over from the previous day eventually pushing away any hopes of staying in bed further. 

He relit the candle on his shelf and shuffled to the hearth. Everything seemed harsh to his senses; the flame of the candle too bright, the stone floor too cold despite the mild summer night. He started making the tea, almost forgetting that it needed to be simmered instead of just steeped like his previous prescription. He almost scalded himself with hot water as he fussed, and he cursed quietly to himself, rubbing his eyes.

Out of habit, he went to the desk, and it wasn’t until he looked down that he remembered why he had been avoiding the place.

There wasn’t any letter, no response to Alyosha’s pointed note, just a question that made the Exarch flinch.

 

> _ You have a new prescription. Why? _

 

“There was concern that my mind was being affected, so they’ve switched me back to an older recipe,” Alyosha answered out loud, though the action embarrassed him. Was he merely talking to himself? Was this call and response just a strange form of self-soothing?

He tried to focus on a letter to Prelate Lucius in Velas as he drank his tea. It was sweeter than the other one, which was pleasant, but his nerves made it feel sour in his stomach. He ate some bread just to have something else in him, hardly tasting it. By the time the sun had risen and it was time for him to make his way to the church, he didn’t feel much better.

Rosemerrow didn’t hold as many faithful to the Creed as other cities, but there was still an atmosphere of celebration. Decorations were going up, some special foods were appearing in stands, and children ran about with even more vigor. It warmed Alyosha’s heart some, and he tried to focus on that instead of his momentary shame over starting the day so negatively. He entered the bustle of the church like one paddles a boat into a river, moving from task to task, helping where he could, noting quiet corners where he could rest.

And he needed to rest, often. He knew, intellectually, that he would be experiencing more pain on his old medicine, but the adjustment period always caught him off guard regardless. It was too easy to push too hard, and find himself all but collapsed on one of the benches in the gathering hall, trying to soothe his knees and ankles with his hands. The pain was tiring, too, dulling his mind, and it took three times for the Exarch to realize that Prelate Petro was calling his name.

Alyosha stammered an apology, but the Prelate waved it off. “Please, we don’t need you to overextend yourself, Alyosha. I was actually just looking for you to ask if you were interested in leading the congregation tomorrow, assuming it is not the Day. You have received several compliments, and I believe it would be a better place for you instead of basic labour.”

“Oh, of course,” Alyosha replied. The praise made him feel better about what could have just as well been a dismissal.

“You can return to your residence to prepare,” Prelate Petro said, curt but not unkind, and left.

So, Alyosha did as well. He went back the long way, where the slopes up to Wistful Peaks were shallower and the market stands more plentiful, fresh cherries and young cheeses and beautifully decorated hand pies out for the holidays. Tired and hungry, the Exarch indulged himself with several of these. He all but collapsed at his desk when he arrived back at his room, the smell of rosemary and butter the only thing keeping him from going immediately to bed.

There was no new writing.

Alyosha managed a few notes while he ate, though the taste of meats and spices after a few days of only paltry meals was very distracting. He was considering another sermon on rest for tomorrow. He had done several over the years, since he had done considerable research for his own personal growth. It seemed fitting to bring the topic back, with the rush of labour leading up to High Sun Day and the inevitable crash afterwards. It suited Alyosha as well, as someone who felt at his best when at his kindest.

Yes, this would be a good topic.

The Exarch spent his afternoon picking back through his collection of prayers and holy texts, making notes and marking verses. He ached as he sat, and when he stood, the sharp jolt of pain startled a small sound out of him, but his spirits were high. He took his cane with him around the room so he could tidy, and he readied for bed as the sun set with a warm kind of satisfaction.

The next day wasn’t High Sun Day, but the day after was. Alyosha rose early and looked over his notes with his tea and a breakfast of bread, cheese, and cherries. There was no writing again, and the old letters ended up covered by books, momentarily forgotten. The air was humid but cool in the morning, making the walk to the church pleasant, if aching. The Prelate must have noticed his cane, because in the time it took for Alyosha to make his rounds of the church, asking if any help is needed before moving into the hall, a chair had appeared next to the pulpit. It was slightly awkward to reach up, switching books from the pulpit to his lap during the congregation, but it was preferable to standing. Several of the attendees came to speak with him after, some seeking counsel and blessings but most thanking him and praising his wisdom. Alyosha was slightly flustered by the end of it, enough that he didn’t try to insist when Prelate Petro sent him home early again. Trying to take his own counsel, he took the afternoon to rest, reading the book on his shelf and settling to sleep before the sun set. When he woke to the early dawn and the sound of children shouting that the Day had come, Alyosha felt truly blessed.

When he went to his desk and found a new letter, placed deliberately in the centre of the nest of books and notes that had been built there, he was caught off guard. He couldn’t help but read it.

 

> _ Alyosha, _
> 
>  
> 
> _ I hope you will pardon my absence as I have pardoned yours. It seems we have both been preoccupied by our own pursuits. _
> 
> _ I have been investigating my ability to “travel”, which is less like moving a body to me now so much as a projection of intent over distance. It has been much easier to perceive my environment than to act on it, and outside of the apartment is no different. I could still “see” and “hear” outside of Wistful Peaks, but it became difficult to so much as rustle the leaves of a shrub. Eventually, partway down the hill, I began to lose focus, and then cognition. Going so far just to return to the state I was Before is hardly useful to me, so I turned and went back before i completely forgot myself. However, even back at the apartment I was still drained, so I had to rest for a while. _
> 
> _ Still, I would consider this an improvement of my state. Less than a month ago, simply the act of moving your pen to write to you would leave me similarly exhausted. Before that, I knew little else except the feeling of you in this space I consider my own. (I remember nothing between my death and your arrival, and because of that I have considered that you are a factor in my awakening, but I have found no connections. I suspect you merely came to the right place and the right time.) Now, I can move beyond this room and perform minor evocation. With practice, I expect I will be able to project my will further and in more effective ways. _
> 
> _ The dawn approaches sooner than I expected. I suspect that means today is High Sun Day, and you will be busy. Still, if you find time to write, I will read it. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Your Tutor, _
> 
> _ Arrell _

 

Alyosha felt fear precipitate like a solid thing, cold and hard in his stomach. At once, he stood and dressed, leaving without eating. Luckily, the holiday meant everyone was gathered early with drinks and lighter foods to bridge the gap between the start of the ceremonies and the late morning feast, but the Exarch realized with a sinking sensation that he hadn’t made his tea. Still, there was nothing to be done by then, so he put on a smile and continued to mingle for a little while before leaving to meet with all of the members of the Creed who had gathered for the holiday.

Prelate Petro was distinguishable just by his arm sticking out of the crowd of priests and other members of the church, counting everyone. He was a short man, which still meant that he towered over most of the worshipers gathered in the hall, but around the mostly-human clergy, he was all but consumed. Or, he would be, except that all was needed was a word and the crowds parted for him to pass.

“Ah, Exarch Alyosha, you were one of the few missing still,” the Prelate sounded as steady as ever, even though he was holding up his expansive ceremonial robes as he rushed around, his polished iron circlet well on its way to becoming tarnished again with the amount of sweat on his brow. “You may yet have time to change before the meeting. Have you seen Sister Kinsey?”

Alyosha put in a genuine effort to remember if he had, but his nerves were still high. Thankfully, he didn’t need to say anything in the end, as Prelate Petro bustled away, calling to a tardy young priest who had just bashfully slipped in the room. Alyosha quickly excused himself to change into his own High Sun Day robes. Exarchs did not have marks of their position aside from their ring, wearing the purple-trimmed robes of a senior priest in deference to the local Prelate despite being of equal authority. The tabard worn over it was scarlet like fire, their Lord’s holy symbol emblazoned upon it in gold thread. When Alyosha threaded his amulet from underneath, it fell against his chest in the centre of the circle, a sun within a sun. That brought a small smile to his face, but then a paladin opened the door, calling him back to the delayed meeting.

Prelate Petro seemed more at ease now, reviewing duties and positions with each group. Everyone was sweating now, crowded in the smaller room with their extra layers. Thankfully, all the priests and paladins knew their parts well despite being late to gather, and the meeting was short. Everyone dispersed with the murmur of hushed conversation and the swish of long robes and capes. Alyosha went with the priests to call in the townsfolk, still rowdy with food and conversation. His previous nerves threatened him with a headache, but he was still kind with the people, even a guest who was already a bit tipsy and nearly caught him a couple times with their expansive gestures as he ushered them to a seat.

Alyosha had heard the songs of celebration sung many ways over the years, each city and town making it a little different. However, he thought that the people of Rosemerrow may come the closest to the spirit of the hymns, sung high and boisterous. When Prelate Petro spoke, it was with a warm pride in the work done in the city, each home raised and forge stoked praised as a reflection of their Lord, and his words were met with loud praises of the God-King. From what Alyosha had read, it took a long time for the Creed to take root here, but they eventually took to Samothes’s industrious nature, working with a remarkable energy and then celebrating just as hard. Alyosha felt some of that fire catching in him, carrying him through the long period of standing he did with the other members of the Creed during the ceremony.

Eventually, when everything ended and the tables brought back with an even greater array of food and drink, Alyosha was brought a chair so he could sit with Prelate Petro and receive the gifts from the people. He was careful not to sigh too loudly as he finally sat, but the Prelate still gave him a look from the corner of his eyes.

“Good to see the ceremonies have put some colour back in your face,” he said.

“The ceremonies or this heat?” Alyosha responded jovially.

“Both,” Prelate Petro’s smile was entirely in his eyes, a dramatic set of lines blooming from the corners. “A long time ago, some followers of Samothes would pray in volcanic caves close to the Holy Forge to cleanse their body and spirit.”

Alyosha’s eyes lit up at this new knowledge, but the line of worshipers wanting to speak to the Prelate had formed before he could ask further.

Once, the gifts from the people would have gone directly to Samothes himself, but now they largely stay with the church. The more well-to-do brought more traditional offerings; perfumes, fine fabrics, and fine-wrought metal, but everyone else’s gifts could furnish the entire church. There were baskets, plates, blankets, tapestries embroidered by an entire neighborhood of grandparents, knitted slippers, candles, and so much more that Alyosha was overwhelmed.

Perhaps the most touching gift was a chair brought by a family of carpenters. The elderly master who had made it was carried to the altar on the seat itself, carried over the heads of her grandchildren like royalty, or perhaps like she came with the gift. When sat down in front of Alyosha and Prelate Petro, she smiled and extended a shaking hand. Apparently the weakness had settled in suddenly, forcing her to well and truly retire. This was her last piece, finished by the other members of the family, and she wanted to give it to the church.

While they were speaking, the elderly halfling asked to see Alyosha’s cane. He handed it to her bashfully, and she turned it over in her hands with care, then looked up and smiled. “Who made it?”

Alyosha was far above this woman’s station, but he felt far the opposite, ducking his head shyly as she returned him his cane. “I did,” he said. He gestured to the pattern of budding vines leading to clustered flowers covering the head. “The flowers remind me of my childhood with the Grand Tour in the East. I add to it sometimes when I am idle and lonely while I’m traveling.”

The master carpenter’s smile grew wider. “I like it. You have good hands.”

Alyosha’s friendly chuckle came out almost like a giggle, his hands covering each other over the head of his cane self-consciously. He had just been thinking about how they were starting to ache along with his knees and feet. “I’m honored,” he said, and the carpenter family slowly disappeared into the crowd, the old master walking with a hand in the crook of her grandchild’s arm.

During and after the gift-giving was eating and drinking, and during and after the eating and drinking was dancing. Most of the priests and paladins had snuck into the side rooms to change back out into their standard wear, but Alyosha hadn’t yet gotten the chance. Even after the line ended and he and Prelate Petro stood, Alyosha was waylaid at least five different times by people in various numbers. A couple initiates were there when he finally made it to the back, and they snickered at his expression.

“You look like you just escaped a mob!” one commented.

Alyosha laughed as well, smoothing his hair. “I was hoping to appear less obvious.”

“If you have to go, just tell them you have to go!” said a young halfling with chestnut-brown hair and a face almost completely covered in freckles, “I promise it’s not offensive, it’s exactly like this back at home.”

“I appreciate the advice,” Alyosha responded kindly, “I would think I would be more flexible after so long abroad, but old habits die hard, I suppose.”

It was a relief to be free of the weight of the ceremonial robes, but the Exarch did not catch any second wind during the rest of the day’s festivities. Minute by minute his pain and fatigue worsened. He danced once with a handsome and well-meaning paladin visiting from the East who lead at half time, but he sat the rest of the time. It was overwhelming, the talking and music and people bringing him food and drinks from the tables, and Alyosha had to excuse himself a few times just to sit in the back rooms where it was quiet except for the muffled sounds of a tryst somewhere a couple doors away.

It wasn’t until someone found him drifted off, slumped sideways on an end-table crowded with candlesticks, that Alyosha considered that he may not be able to stay for the entire celebration. Everyone was kind, of course. Prelate Petro patted his arm and the coupe dozen citizens still present didn’t keep him for too long. He tried to not show the pain, but his smiles were tight-lipped. When he finally exited the church and looked down the road towards Wistful Peaks, he let out a ragged, unintentional sigh.

Alyosha walked home slowly, the sun setting at his back. About halfway there, he broke out into a sweat, though his face felt cold and bloodless. His mind was hazy with pain. There were people outside Wistful Peaks dancing in the light of hanging lanterns, and he waved back at them when they shouted at him in greeting, hoping that he was far enough from the light that they could not see his face.

The stairs were the worst of it. By the end, there were tears prickling at his eyes, and he wanted to curse the whole of Wistful Peaks, its architect, and most of all himself for not thinking this would happen when he agreed to stay. He wanted nothing more than to make his forgotten medicine and collapse into bed, but when he entered the apartment, his eyes were immediately drawn to the desk, where the letter still sat.

What happened next would be something Alyosha remembered with a mix of humility and understanding. It was beyond foolish to refuse treatment, and the Exarch thought himself in a good position, a wise man with a keen understanding of himself and a healer with whom he was in a trusting partnership. But, it served well as a reminder how powerful an adversary fear could be. Because, though Alyosha knew he was no longer under the influence of his previous medicine (if the extent of his pain was any indicator), and he also knew he was in no danger of dreams or visions, he was afraid that these things were still happening. And, it was that fear that compelled him to bed without so much as a glance at his cabinet, shaking and aching, to try to go to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter was a gift from Past Me. It was FAR too much fun.
> 
> Warnings for some brief graphic violence, and drug use*
> 
> *Laudanum specifically

There were few times Alyosha could recall being quite so miserable.

He barely slept during the night, woken frequently by either a jolt of pain when he shifted or by some noise outside, amplified by his fear. More than a few of times, it sounded like someone had called his name.

Alyosha’s few dreams were hazy and incomplete-- a hall, a tower, a torch burning his fingers, a whisper in his ear. At some point, he had lit his bedside candle and tried to read a while, and at some point he must have given up and put it out. The hours melted into each other, each small infinity indistinguishable from the other. He watched the sky become progressively lighter blues, like the layers of a watercolour painting in reverse, but none of it felt real until the sun finally crested the skyline and drenched the room in golden light.

It hurt.

Everything hurt.

Alyosha spent possibly an hour or two looking across the room before he managed to get up. He tried to have some food, but more than a couple bites made him feel nauseous. He looked at the door with dread. He couldn’t simply fail to show up at the church without notice, but the pigeons kept by Wistful Peaks for use of the residents were down all those stairs… He heard the early morning bells ringing, and steeled himself. It would be fine. It was still early, meaning not many of the neighbors were yet awake. Just down the stairs, send a short message to the Prelate, and then he could take as long as he needed to get back up.

Alyosha did precisely that, the halls and common spaces blessedly quiet. He didn’t cry or curse on the way back up, and it seemed like it would all be alright. But, the moment he sat down, he felt all the tension he had been holding back rush to his stomach, and he was immediately up again so he could be ill somewhere other than the desk. He spent an inordinate amount of time being miserable on the floor before he could even find it in himself to clean up, and even then, it was mostly out of fear that the smell would just make him feel worse.

After that, he collapsed in bed again, supposedly triumphant but feeling ultimately defeated. Even if he wanted to give in and make the tea the healers had given him, he wouldn’t have been able to. So, he just laid there and hoped, prayed, that the pain would recede on its own, even though it had never been answered before.

He drifted off for just a moment.

_ “Alyosha.” _

The priest jolted awake at the sound of his name, glancing around, even though there was nothing there, and never was. When he looked out the window and couldn’t tell if any time had passed at all, he felt more than a little bit like crying. He fell back against his pillows, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes. Had he done something wrong? He let out a small frustrated sob, but mostly kept his despair to himself. When he was collected again, his stomach made a quiet plea for food, and so he gathered himself to get up again.

He was slumped in his chair at his desk, bread and cherries in hand before he saw the notes.

 

> _ You haven’t had any of your teas. Why? You’re in pain. _

 

Then, under that, clearly written later:

 

> _ You’re being foolish. _

 

Alyosha groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stave off another bought of despair.

“You’re not real,” he said aloud, barely a whisper, a prayer to himself.

When he opened his eyes, the note was still there, and he flipped the parchment over just so he didn’t have to look at it. He felt his nerves rising again, and he bolted his food before it could stem his appetite completely. Thankfully, that seemed to settle everything, and he allowed himself to stumble back to bed again. As he closed his eyes, he could feel a cool draft against his face, and it soothed him a little.

He slept light and fitful, but he at least slept.

When he woke again, it was to the sound of knocking on his door. Dazed and aching, he made his way to the door and opened it before he even realized he hadn’t put anything over his sleep clothes. The courier at the door had just turned to leave, and looked back, startled.

“E-Exarch Alyosha?” they asked with a reedy tone of uncertainty.

“That would be me, yes,” Alyosha responded. He saw the human — Velesian?— glance over his person and open their mouth, so he added, “It’s nothing contagious, I promise.”

The courier made a guilty face. “My apologies. Uh, you have a letter, and a pigeon was waiting for you downstairs.” They handed over a folded parchment sealed with the mark of the Solarch, and a smaller scroll.

“Thank you, I…” Alyosha turned back towards the desk before the courier could protest, fumbling with his coin purse and cane. Still, they waited patiently for him to return to the doorway and took the pay with a small bow and word of thanks before leaving.

The response from Prelate Petro was as generous as Alyosha expected, blessings for his ailments sent over paper and ink. The letter from the Solarch was just a copied message of High Sun Day greetings sent to every Prelate and Exarch. Alyosha set them both aside on the desk, and that’s when he saw that the parchment he had turned over before was again facing up.

 

> _ What has come over you? I am ethereal but I am _ real. _ My presence is undeniable. _

 

Alyosha turned the paper over again forcefully, teeth gritted, hand flat on the desktop like he could convince it to stay there.

“You’re  _ not _ real. You’re not,” he said again.

He got up, and as an extra measure, he tightened the lid on his ink pot and put it and his pen in one of the drawers. He was so tired, and he must be still sleepwalking to write these absurdities to himself. He crawled into bed, frustrated. Why couldn’t he just sleep? If he could just make it through the day, he would be free of visions and he could start making the teas again. He just needed to make it through the day. If only he could sleep…

He didn’t realize that the breeze in the room was too cool for the weather until it had picked up to a sudden gust unlike any he had ever experienced in Wistful Peaks. Wind whipped his hair around his face and scattered letters and notes from his desk, noise filling his ears.

_ “Alyosha.” _

Alyosha covered his ears, looking out fearfully at the storm his apartment had become. The wind had picked up to a loud gale. The books were shuddering in their shelves. “Oh no,” he found himself saying out loud, “Oh no no no no…”

_ “Answer me, Alyosha!” _

He squeezed his eyes shut, huddled in his bed. “Please— I can’t—”

_ “Answer me! I know you can hear me!” _

Of course Alyosha could hear him; his voice was everywhere in the room, riding the moans of the wind. The air was icy, biting Alyosha’s face. Books fell, plates broke, the whole room filled with cacophonous sound.

_ “Alyosha!” _

_“Stop!”_ Alyosha was nearly screaming; he had to be to even hear himself over the din. Tears spilled hot down his face. “Tutor,  _ please!” _

Miraculously, the wind slowed. It slowed, and eventually Alyosha felt his hair still against his face and the papers settle on the floor with the air like the end of a sigh. It was quiet.

Alyosha sobbed into the silence, his hands clutching the blankets and covering his mouth. He shook and cried, dry ugly sobbing and tears that kept falling even when his throat felt dry as death. He cried because he was afraid, and confused, and tired, and in pain, and it hurt more to cry, too. After he stopped he didn’t feel better. He just felt used up, like the husk of the man people used to praise. He was so, so tired and hurt so, so much.

He stumbled out of his bed, nearly falling onto his knees in front of where his travel bag had been set aside since he had settled into the apartment. He opened pockets and compartments, rooting through countless trinkets and supplies that he hasn’t needed in weeks, until he finally found what he was looking for. He held the dark glass vial up to the light, peering at the small amount of liquid still inside. The label was faded with time, but it was still legible.

 

_ Tincture of Poppy Seed and Nutmeg _

_ For Relief of Pain and Sleep Aid _

_ Dissolve 2 Drops Underneath the Tongue Twice Daily As Needed _

 

It must have been years since he last used it, but luckily it was still good. He unscrewed the cap and squeezed the dropper into his mouth. Two drops. He let the vial fall back into his bag and slumped into bed.

He just needed to sleep. He needed to sleep.

And finally, he did.

People described the way people slept under the poppy as the sleep of the dead. Alyosha certainly would agree. He slept heavy and still, like under the weight of so many blankets. He could imagine being smothered by that weight. His dreams were hazy and dark, but he was too deep to be frightened by them.

_ An elven man gripped his robes, gritted teeth and wild, blue eyes. _

_ “You  _ can’t  _ leave me!” _

_ His hands were on the elf’s wrists. He was trying to shake him? He was standing still? _

_ “You  _ have _ to stay with me! You can’t  leave!” _

_ Alyosha could see the slate blue robes of the academic on the elf, but the way he was spoke was animal. Alyosha was afraid, he thought, or he should have been. Alyosha was holding a knife, and he stabbed? Cut? Tore? through the elf’s neck. The blood looked thick and unreal. _

_ Then nothing. _

When Alyosha woke up, the sun was setting. He thought he would be relieved that he was no longer in pain, but mostly he just felt drowsy and detached and uneasy. He thought over the hours but was unsure what to make of them.

He wasn’t expecting to see his food laid out for him on the shelf when he turned to get out of bed. He looked at the plate for a long moment, thinking, before he ultimately reached out and took it into his lap.

Afterwards, he was quickly asleep again, but it was a lighter sleep. He thought he woke up a couple times, the moon bright above, and a cool hand resting over his.

_ This time, when he dreamed, he was in a room with sunlight streaming in tall, tall windows. There was the sound of writing coming from the desk behind him. He was sitting in a chair against the wall, feet up on a windowsill, hands folded in his lap. It felt warm and good, and he was in no hurry. _

_ The writing paused. _

_ “Alyosha,” came a voice from the desk. _

_ “Tutor,” Alyosha answered, like it was the most natural thing to do. _

_ It was quiet for a moment. The sounds of birds drifted in from outside. _

_ “You scared me,” said Alyosha. _

_ “I know,” said Tutor. _

_ Quiet again. Tutor resumed writing for a while, then stopped again. Alyosha could feel his eyes on him. _

_ “I thought you weren’t real, because of the medicine,” Alyosha said. He needed to say it. “I know it’s not, but I am still afraid. Because you’re wonderful, and I don’t want you to go.” _

_ More quiet, but tense. _

_ “Alyosha,” Tutor started. _

_ “Oh,” said Alyosha, “I’m sorry. I’m dreaming.” _

Alyosha woke up to light streaming into the apartment. It was bright but soft; it didn't hurt like the last morning did. He felt well-rested like he hadn't in days, it seemed. He saw movement in the corner of his eye, heard a quiet gasp, but saw nothing when he turned his head.

Well, nothing except for the chair pulled up next to the bed, and a cup of tea waiting for him on his shelf. Alyosha slowly sat up. He ached, but not to the extent that he did before. He took the teacup in his hands, holding it thoughtfully for a moment, then drank.

He was quiet for a long time before he spoke.

“Tutor.”

Silence. Alyosha drank more of the tea.

“Are you able to speak?”

More silence.

But then, quietly, an answer. “Yes.”

Alyosha felt his breath catch in his throat. The voice sounded like the voice from his dream. He looked out into the empty apartment and tried to quiet his heart.

Arrell, yes, he had said that was his name, spoke again. “I see you have recovered.”

Alyosha gave a wan smile. “For the most part, yes.”

Alyosha drank more of his tea. The silence gave away the uncertainty between them. They had been writing for weeks with no trouble, but then Alyosha’s episode and now facing the vulnerable realness of voices had them treading in cautious circles around each other.

“I thought I saw something when I woke up. Was that you?” Alyosha pressed.

“Yes,” Arrell answered sooner this time, “I am now able to manifest for short periods of time. I seem to be a common type of spectre, able to be seen and heard but largely intangible. I was… testing it when you woke.”

“I’m sorry, I must have startled you.”

The ghost made a derisive noise. “Hardly. You were talking in your sleep, so I was already aware of you.”

Alyosha glanced at the chair next to the bed.

“Will you go to the church?” Arrell asked.

Alyosha shrugged. “Prelate Petro said he would not ask after me if I took a second day, so I will go in the afternoon if I am feeling well.”

Another pause and another sip of tea.

“Are you… able to manifest again right now?” Alyosha asked.

A thoughtful sound came from across the room. “I should be able to for a short time without compromising my hold.”

There was a pause, and Alyosha didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he saw Arrell, and instead of gasping, all the air rushed out of his lungs in an awed sigh. The way the ghost manifested reminded him of the one time he watched a master scribe working on an illumination for a copy of a holy text. Just a twist of the hand and a stroke of thinned white ink on purple dyed parchment became a shape, and then a person. Arrell was a translucent blue white, and his robes fell to just above the floor, as if resting on an unseen step. When Arrell moved, they moved with him, but not once did they touch the floor, nor did Alyosha see his feet. Even within the limited colours, the Exarch could see that his hair was dark, his skin pale, his eyes perhaps a softer blue.

He looked exactly like the elf in the dream. The one Alyosha killed. The priest's gaze flickered to the wizard’s throat, but his collar stood almost to his chin, hiding any mark.

Just then, Arrell quirked a brow expectantly at Alyosha, an expression that was so very much like Tutor that it startled a laugh out of him.

“Oh?” the ghost asked back, “Am I not what you were expecting?”

“To the contrary.” A smile had grown on Alyosha’s face and wouldn't leave. He did not yet have proof that Tutor was not still just a delusion of his, but… He wanted to believe that he wasn't. He wanted to prove it.

Alyosha touched the chair near him. “Tell me what you have been doing when we weren't writing?”

Arrell smiled like a breeze, thin and brief.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once more to everyone for your support! This has really been a joy to write, and I'm so happy to share that joy with all of you.

Alyosha was surprised by how quickly they settled in together. Perhaps he shouldn't have been– they had been living (or residing?) in the same place for weeks, months now. The way Arrell fit easily into the empty spaces of the apartment gave Alyosha the impression that he had been doing this since before he could physically manifest. The wizard was a comfortable presence, whether he was out of Alyosha’s sight or a shimmer in the corner of his eye or even wholly invisible, a mere sensation of close space as he leaned over Alyosha’s  shoulder to scrutinize a piece of his work. The feeling was so familiar that Alyosha really wondered if he had felt it before and just didn't notice.

The biggest change was the ease with which they could communicate now. Alyosha was a wanderer, and thus often only kept friendships through correspondence, bonds forming over two hour periods every three weeks when letters were received and read and responses written. One would say that in-person meetings were superior, but even the visits when he returned to a city had a similar feeling to writing. The feeling of complete and total concentration on a person, of soaking in everything about them, because soon there would be only the road and work ahead once more. Alyosha found that he had poor stamina with people, as fond as he was of them, which made it even more difficult when he had limited time for even his dearest friends. But with Arrell, he  _ had _ time; time to allow for silences and pauses and small half-formed thoughts to be spoken and then restated later when the right words were found.

People got to have this all the time, Alyosha kept thinking. People lived whole lives with this kind of time with other people.

Alyosha didn’t realize that his eyes were wet until he heard an inquisitive sound from beside him.

“What's this?” Arrell was leaning over the desk, peering at a tome that was so ancient that it wasn't written on parchment, but on stripe of bark sewn together into pages.

Alyosha tried to compose himself. “Ah, yes, that's part of my research with Prelate Petro.”

“Hm, I see. It had been so long that I had gotten the impression that you had moved on to better things.”

Alyosha snorted. The wizard certainty didn't hold back his disdain for religion, even while being fairly tolerant of Alyosha’s practice, which made for some odd humour between them.

“It’s true, I have been neglectful…” he moved aside the books and notes on spirits of the dead that were cluttering his desk in a visual representation of his distraction, laying out the ancient book in the newly vacated space. 

“This has actually proved useful to our own studies, believe it or not…” Alyosha turned the stitched pages with intense care, sorting through his notes and translations. “Now, I was initially drawn to this because it spoke of Samote– or Samot, depending on the text– a powerful wizard and shape-shifter who may actually be a god… See, here he is called a mage and teacher of mages, a profession, a mortal title. Samothes is never just called a smith, hm? But then in this passage, his name has the Divine suffix, and–” Alyosha stopped himself suddenly, “Well, I'm getting ahead of myself…”

The pleasant thing is that Arrell wasn’t the one who spoke up. The elf, if Alyosha was to be honest, only used manners when it suited him, only too happy to estrange the people he decided he didn’t care for otherwise. That is to say, he could be extremely rude sometimes. But despite that, Arrell didn't cut the Exarch off when his ramble wandered off in what he usually considered an uninteresting direction. When Alyosha looked up, there was no boredom or scornful look on Arrell face, just his sharp-eyed attention. It wasn’t until the spectre raised an eyebrow that Alyosha realized he had been staring.

“Er, so,” the priest started again, “There is another instance of the Divine suffix here, but I'm fairly certain that it is not in reference to Samote. Instead, this one is described as _‘the first killer’_ and _‘a hunter in the night before the First Light of the Undying Fire’_. This figure comes up later… here it says _‘the first to kill, deadly poet, whose name is the wailing of widows over the ocean’_ and then here, _‘ancient hunter, lover of the world, who keeps his gifts forever’_ –”

“Forgive me Pupil, but ancient poetry is not my area of expertise,” Arrell finally spoke up, though not admonishing, “Who do you think this hunter is?”

Alyosha turned in his seat to look at him, smiling. “Tutor, don't you see? He's the God of Death.”

Arrell frowned, clearly skeptical. “Go on.”

Alyosha tried not to close the book too hard, but he was jittery with excitement. “So, there is or was a God of Death, real or imagined, who people worshipped. This means that it is very likely that they would have studied death and undeath extensively.”

Arrell scoffed. “Your Lord certainly doesn’t think highly of the study of his work,” he commented.

“Tutor,” said Alyosha playfully, looking over his shoulder, “We can continue our debate of my Lord after we’re done here.”

Arrell vanished suddenly. 

Alyosha blinked. “Tutor?”

“I’m here, don’t get your robes in a twist,” Arrell grumbled from roughly the same point he had been standing, “Continue.”

Alyosha paused, unsure if he heard a strange tone in the ghost’s voice, but then turned back to his notes. “Anyway, I did a little digging at the New Archives outpost, and I was able to find information on a group called the  _ ‘Hospitaliers du Tristero,’ _ healers and likely cultists who largely came from the island Nacre.”

“Nacre is a  _ myth _ ,” Arrell interjected.

Alyosha held up a hand. “Perhaps, but the  _ Hospitaliers _ were recorded in multiple cities across the South of Hieron. Nacre may not exist, but they did, and I firmly believe they worshipped the God of Death– their Tristero. They would chant or wail  _ ‘Tristero, Tristero,’ _ in their rituals. Remember in the poetry, _‘whose name is the wailing of widows over the ocean,’_ There are even more references to the sea that I didn’t mention, and Nacre is an island with presumably an oceanic climate.”

Arrell made a non-committal sound, the closest thing to assent Alyosha would get.

“This gives us several leads, now,” he turned to where the wizard might be with a smile, “There’s Memoriam College, there’s Bolster Valentine, and now the  _ Hospitaliers _ and Tristero himself. While getting a hold of  _ Mortal Liminality _ would be the most ideal, it is also very unlikely. Having other avenues will be helpful to us.”

“Hm…” Arrell sounded thoughtful, papers moving aside as the wizard’s invisible hand perused Alyosha’s notes. “I commend your efforts, Pupil…” 

Alyosha always felt a strange kind of pride whenever Tutor called him that, but it was tempered by the unspoken “but” in his sentence.

The ghost eventually just sighed, “I generally prefer to see the original texts myself, to compare. You are sure you cannot gain permission to take the books from the outpost?”

“Short of the years of collaboration and networking it takes for an outsider to be named an Honorary Archivist? No.” Alyosha responded. He already had investigated those avenues, and while he was fond of the Archivist he worked with most frequently, the limited interaction he had with any other members of the New Archives mostly left him feeling somewhere on the range between frustrated and irate. If he could, he would very much prefer to keep his contact limited to the outpost’s library…

“Wait–” Alyosha interrupted Arrell’s quiet grumbling over the notes with a hand on the desk. “You… you may still be able to see the books.”

There was a pause that may have been genuine curiosity before Arrell scoffed. “Please, don’t tell me you’re thinking of trying to  _ steal _ –”

“ _ No. _ ” Alyosha felt a little sharpness creep into his voice. If the wizard could just do something other than be a  _ skeptic _ sometimes… “I’m  _ asking _ you to come with me to the outpost.”

The silence that followed was a relief. Arrell was listening.

“You’ve been getting stronger every day,” Alyosha continued, “It has been weeks since you last told me you tried to leave Wistful Peaks. Maybe this time you could make it.”

At first Alyosha thought that Arrell was going to refuse, with the way he paused. But then, he said, testily, “Well? Are we going to the outpost or are we staying and staring at the walls?”

Alyosha couldn’t help but laugh to himself as he got up to fetch his cane and his sandals.

 

It was a pleasant walk, all told. The first cool breezes of the year had arrived, drawing everyone out from their cellars and bath houses and wherever else they could escape from the heat. Alyosha enjoyed the bustle, sound and people flowing around him like water. He rarely encountered rudeness from anyone for holding up traffic, though he also suspected that his vestments offered a kind of protection.

Arrell was distinctly uncomfortable with the crowds. “They all just keep walking  _ through _ me!” he complained, exasperated, and Alyosha smiled.

“That’s what people do when they think no one is there, Tutor,” he responded. Arrell just grumbled, and Alyosha laughed and apologized. “I don’t mean to tease, Arrell. I just think you sound very cute when you’re flustered.”

“ _ Excuse _ me!” The wizard sounded absolutely scandalized, and Alyosha had to cover his mouth this time to keep his laughter from drawing too much attention.

Still, Alyosha felt comfortable speaking aloud to Arrell as they walked (or traveled?) together. The natural curiosity of the townsfolk was tempered by the bustle. Everyone in the street who wasn’t sitting behind a stall or on a patio seemed to have somewhere to be, often in a hurry. So, Alyosha talked freely, briefing Arrell on the outpost, the people there, and their plans for the afternoon.

“I would honestly be surprised if they caught you,” he said, “If you remained invisible and didn’t try to move anything, you would be undetectable without magical assistance… and that would mean that they had thought ahead so much as to acquire it.”

Arrell hummed thoughtfully, “I know wards that detect intruders in a space, but I do not know if a spirit would trip them. I would have to test them myself…”

The ghost was quiet for a while, but Alyosha didn’t mind; he just assumed he was lost in thought. It wasn’t until he heard a quiet groan that he slowed, looking up to where Arrell would be at his right.

“Tutor?”

“It’s fine, my concentration slipped a moment is all,” Arrell answered.

Alyosha looked down the road towards their destination. They were not too far from the outpost now, but the ghost sounded tense, and that worried him.

Still, they continued forward after that pause. Alyosha continued to speak as they went, even though Arrell had stopped responding beyond the occasional affirmative noise. He speculated about what aspects of the library the wizard might enjoy, what other books they could peruse should Arrell be able to go inside, not for any reason other than because it interested them.

“Ah, we’re almost there,” he said, spotting the building in the distance, “Arrell?”

Alyosha didn’t hear anything from the ghost– not exactly. Rather than a sound in his ears, it was in every bone in his body, his teeth rattling in his skull, a vibration almost from the earth itself. It was an unearthly wail, terrifying, but it also sounded like terror, and sadness.

After the moment passed, Alyosha peered around the street cautiously, scared of looking too out of place if he was the only one who had heard it, but also scared of reactions if he  _ wasn’t  _ the only one. He saw a couple people had paused, confused, but continued on without any trouble. Alyosha could work with that, and he would count it as a blessing later, but at the moment his blood felt cold.

He had to get Arrell back to Wistful Peaks, somehow.

The priest tried not to look panicked and turned back down the street. He called out to Arrell, quietly, after a couple blocks, but heard nothing, so he went back up to where he had lost him. Still nothing. He was definitely panicking then, and an old woman asked if he was lost. After assuring her he was alright, he knew he couldn’t just continue pacing.

So, not knowing what else to do, he returned to Wistful Peaks the same way they came. He talked to himself the entire way, to calm himself, but also in a wild hope that Arrell could still hear him and follow him back. He talked about whatever came to mind, about growing up in the Grand Tour, about some of his travels as Exarch, about some of the people he met that he thought Arrell might like and some he knew he wouldn’t.

Once he made it back to their apartment, Alyosha was exhausted, and there was no sign of the wizard. Still, when it was his nerves versus his fatigue, the fatigue always won. He collapsed in bed, and assured himself that it was all in Samothes’s hands, now. All he could do was wait.

There was no sight nor sign of Arrell for three days.

At first, Alyosha was at a loss. It was the longest he had been out of contact with Arrell since they met. Inevitably, the thought that the ghost was a mere delusion came to his mind. More than once. But, he didn’t panic. Waiting was easy, and Alyosha was well-practiced.

After catching up on his old correspondences, he found himself writing to Arrell again. It was strange, how much a person, a  _ ghost _ , slipped easily into the flow of his life again and again, instead of past and away like so many. It had only been three months or so, but writing to Arrell felt almost nostalgic to him, which amused him.

 

> _ My Dear Tutor, _
> 
> _ I hope you will find these letters in good health. I have found myself with a surprising amount of time on my hands, even when fatigue has me in bed early. I have a renewed sense of direction with my research on the Boy-King ever since a purchase of ours was finally delivered to the church. A book by an unknown scholar– or perhaps a redacted one, since much of this material has been rejected by the Creed. _
> 
> _ It is dangerous knowledge, perhaps, but I wish to take my position seriously. While it would be uncouth to concern the people with an enemy who hasn’t shown his face in so long as to almost be forgotten, for the Creed as a whole, this information is important. _
> 
> _ Previous sources have shown, if anything, an amicable relationship between My Lord and Samote. If we do not know why that changed, why he became our enemy, then how are we to understand any of our enemies? Understanding what lead to their War could help us prevent future wars. For that possibility, I will reconsider works that my predecessors have called heretical. It is my Duty. _
> 
> _ Amazing what I get up to when you’re not around, isn’t it, Tutor? I would like to think that you are at least a little bit proud of me. _
> 
> _ Well, it is time for me to sleep. I continue to pray for your safe return. _
> 
> _ In Serenity,  
>  _ _ Alyosha _

 

It was the day after he wrote that letter, when he had returned from another full day at the church, that Alyosha finally saw a reply.

 

> _ I am here. Just resting. _
> 
> _ -TA _

 

Alyosha clapped a hand to his mouth when he saw it, almost unable to believe it. He scrambled to sit and write a response.

 

> _ Tutor, I am so relieved! Please tell me what happened when you have the strength. _

 

Arrell answered shortly after, in the time it took Alyosha to properly settle in for the evening. The priest could hear the soft scratching of his pen as he prepared a small supper for himself, and it comforted him beyond words, like something from a dream.

 

> _ You don’t need to write your answers to me, Alyosha. I can hear you just fine. However, I am flattered by your letters these few days while I was recovering and could not respond. _
> 
> _ I was able to project my will much farther than last time, but I lost coherency much more quickly. How bothersome. Still, I must commend your quick thinking in the matter. I was able to follow your voice back to where I could safely regain my strength. _
> 
> _ Get your rest and I will get mine. I will speak with you in the morning. _
> 
> _ -Arrell _

 

After that, Alyosha felt buzzing with energy when normally he would be sluggish. He was relieved, and admittedly a little proud. He had felt helpless and a little foolish talking to himself all the way back to Wistful Peaks, but he had helped after all.

Still as much as he felt like he was going to burst with thoughts and questions for Tutor, he agreed that they both needed to rest. He ate his supper, drank his tea, and calmed his excitement with a book, until finally he felt his previous tiredness catch up to him. When he laid down in bed, sleep found him quickly, comforted by the knowledge that Arrell was safe and resting, too, and had been all along. Alyosha slept, and during the night, he sometimes thought he heard the quiet sound of pages in a book being turned.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alyosha has nightmares, and brings someone home with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHAT'S BACK NERDS
> 
> During the spookiest season and exactly one year since I posted Appendix A seems like a great time to resurrect this fic, right? Please enjoy, everyone!!
> 
> Also, thanks to harpydora for betaing!

Alyosha felt grounded again with Arrell back and safe, but his dreams had not yet forgotten just how terrified he had been the day that the ghost he would call his friend lost himself for a moment. More than once, he woke in the night, gasping into the quiet and still air, that unearthly roar still ringing in his ears. 

Arrell must have known, since ghosts did not need sleep, but he did not mention it. The closest thing to any acknowledgement was the time that Alyosha opened his cupboard to retrieve his medicinal tea and found his satchel of chamomile sitting next to it at the front. It didn’t help his dreams, but it did calm his nerves a little, and he looked down at the steaming cup, he felt a warmth beyond just where his hands met ceramic.

The dreams continued for a little more than a week, and one night in particular stood out from the rest. 

_ Alyosha was back on the streets of Rosemerrow, and Arrell had been  _ right there _ , but then he was gone, and Alyosha immediately started to panic. He called for him, rushing down the twisted and suddenly unfamiliar streets. He had to find Arrell. He couldn’t lose him here, or they would both be in danger. _

_ Suddenly, he noticed a dark tower, sprouting out of the city like a weed in a garden, and Alyosha felt fear churn his stomach. Still, he swallowed and went inside. Somehow, he knew he would find Arrell there in the maze of dim rooms and corridors. _

_ When he finally saw the elf, he was turned away, facing the back wall of the room. Alyosha approached him cautiously, one hand held out– consoling? Defensive? _

_ “Tutor,” he called softly. _

_ When Arrell turned around, Alyosha first noticed his wide, blue eyes. Then, he saw the blood. _

_ Arrell reached out and grabbed his outstretched hand. There was blood all the way down his robes, and his neck was torn wide open. _

_ “Run,” Arrell urged through clenched teeth,  _ “Run _ , dammit!” _

_ Alyosha shook his head slowly, dazed. “I’m not leav–” _

_ Even as he spoke, Arrell snarled and lunged forward, and Alyosha felt pain blossom in his stomach as the wizard’s hand pierced him like a knife. He reached out and– drew Arrell in? Collapsed into him? Arrell was suddenly still while Alyosha was starting to shake, and he clung to him as he closed his eyes and started to pray. He was dying, Arrell was  _ already _ dead, but he clenched his hands tighter and prayed, reaching for the warmth of divine power in his chest that would not  _ materialize _ and– _

He woke in his bed, gasping and grasping fistfulls of his blankets. It was quiet, almost silent in that way that made the buzzing in his head from the nightmare all the more intolerable.

He was really getting tired of how often he was finding himself in that situation of late.

Alyosha laid back against his pillow, trying to will himself back to sleep, but he couldn’t shake the malaise of the dream. Even the softest mattresses and blankets wouldn't do, he thought despairingly. He sighed loudly as he shifted back onto his other side.

He wondered if Arrell was still in the apartment. He knew the ghost didn’t sleep, but it had been a kind of unspoken agreement that he would make himself scarce until Alyosha was awake. Still, that was as simple as remaining invisible and taking care to not make too much noise, in Arrell’s case.

Alyosha took in a shaky breath. “Arrell?” His voice came out barely audible, betraying his fear.

There was just the oppressive silence for a moment, but then Alyosha heard Arrell’s answer from the darkness on the other side of his apartment. “It is unusual for you to be up at this hour.”

Alyosha sighed. “My dreams were particularly vivid this time around. It woke me up.”

“I am not in the profession of interpreting dreams,” Arrell commented.

“I wasn’t expecting you to,” Alyosha replied, “I just can’t sleep is all.”

“Hm, I hadn’t considered a sleeping spell…”

_ “Arrell.” _

Alyosha could feel the ghost startle, which pulled a weak laugh from him. He ran a hand through his hair, laying back down with a sigh.

“I don’t need you to fix anything. I just wanted to talk to you,” he said, “Hearing you speak and knowing you are alright makes me feel better.”

Only quiet followed that.

Alyosha swallowed, then asked the darkness, “Could you talk to me for a while?”

He waited. The only change he could detect was the shift of the air as Arrell moved closer. The ghost shimmered as he materialized, like the light of the moons streaming in through the windows had given him form. When their eyes met, he smiled just a little, and Alyosha couldn’t help but smile back.

It wasn’t until Arrell sat down next to him with practiced ease that he realized that he had never moved the chair since he recovered from his episode.

“Have I told you the story of when I traveled into the Mark of the Erasure?” Arrell asked, and Alyosha was sure the wizard could see right through him, into his fear and relief and delight.

“I don’t believe you have.”

Arrell smiled again, then looked to the far wall, as if he could see the scene painted there. “It was difficult. I had hired a man to guide me who claimed to have made the journey before, but by the end of the first night in the snow, I knew he had lost the way...”

Slowly, Alyosha let his eyes fall closed. 

“I was able to correct our path using the stars, as the University requires a proficiency of star-mapping,” Arrell continued, “I had almost returned us to a planned leg our journey, but then the first of several storms arrived, as I had feared. I projected a wall around us, and it only took about an hour for the snow that piled against it to hold its own weight. We spent roughly a week in this fort, which was mostly no trouble. Snow holds heat quite well, and we had rations to eat and water to drink. My books kept me company, though my travel companion was very annoying in close quarters. I knew we couldn’t stay in there forever...”

Alyosha let the words wash over him, imagining the younger, bolder Arrell that would have taken this journey. It was almost funny, comparing him to the Arrell-of-now, who was thoughtful but hardly adventurous. But Arrell-of-now turned out to be a lovely storyteller at least, and Alyosha was able to sleep the rest of the night without any unwelcome dreams. Alyosha liked imagining Arrell as ghostly guardian instead of fearful spectre, and he even imagined that he could feel the wizard’s hand resting over his in his half-sleep, cool and comforting.

After that night, Alyosha’s subconscious seemed to leave him alone for a little while. The Exarch was always amazed at how much he could get done when he was properly rested (though he also realized just how much he was going about sleep-deprived, which was less exciting). He made several breakthroughs in his studies in the days following the end of the nightmares, and Prelate Petro was starting to suggest that he write a formal paper on his findings. Alyosha was flush with excitement and a little pride.

So, when he found one of the paladins lingering shyly in the doorway of the church’s shared study, he was happy to chat with him. Halek was his name, Alyosha remembered– he was the one who had roused him when he dozed off in one of the back rooms during High Sun Day. Halek had dark eyes and a bright smile and ears that stuck out a bit, and he was sweet and permissive the way that Alyosha had once been surprised to find that many paladins were. Of course, now he understood the contradiction– the most powerful soldiers were like stone, but would bend at a word if it came from the right person. Halek was still young, in his mid twenties maybe, but Alyosha could see where he was beginning to harden.

Alyosha began to make a habit of speaking with the paladin when they crossed paths, charmed by the man’s clear delight in seeing him. The Exarch knew that he had a reputation as a flirt in several of the cities he visited, and watching the way Halek stuttered a little when they spoke made Alyosha realize how long it had been since he felt that little thrill. His poor Tutor had borne the brunt of his teasing over the few months, so maybe this indulgence would be of some relief to the wizard, too.

One day, when Alyosha found himself lingering even as the day grew late, he turned to the paladin with a smile and asked, “I wish to keep speaking, but the fatigue is beginning to catch up with me. Will you walk with me?”

Halek blushed very prettily when he agreed.

Alyosha was surprised to find that Halek’s curiosity blossomed away from the temple. The Exarch was of course aware that the Creed extolled the virtue of trust, which often meant not asking for knowledge outside of one's station. However, he did not realize that his opinion on sharing knowledge as a matter of fraternity was an exceptional one.

“This is more than I ever learned as an initiate,” Halek confessed, bright eyed with wonder.

“How strange! And yet they expect you to preach and to lead if necessary? The parable I just told you has turned many hearts in my years abroad.” Alyosha smiled in an almost mischievous manner. “Perhaps I should make reformation of the western temples my first task post-sabbatical.”

“I-If it is His Will…” Halek stammered, and Alyosha laughed.

“I promise I'm only joking. You need not worry about being accomplice to a heretic,” he reassured the paladin. “At most, it will be a lively discussion between Prelate Petro and myself. That is all.”

Conversation continued like that all the way to Wistful Peaks. Alyosha did feel genuinely tired at the end of the journey, which put somewhat of a damper on his plans, but he remained optimistic. Halek hovered by the door to Alyosha’s apartment as he unlocked it, straightening to attention when the Exarch looked back at him.

“Would you like to stay for some tea?” Alyosha asked ever so sweetly, and Halek stuttered as he obliged.

A tinkling of bells sounded as the paladin stepped in, making him jump.

Alyosha chuckled. “It must have been the neighbors. Please sit, I'll make a calming tea for your nerves,” he said soothingly.

Halek sat down in the one chair of the apartment, which happened to still be facing the bed. The paladin turned it around so he could see Alyosha, but didn't move it otherwise. The two of them spoke a little as Alyosha bustled around the small hearth, but in the silences between exchanges, Alyosha wondered about Arrell. Should he try to write to him? It seemed like the polite thing to do— when he was a young adept traveling with one or sometimes two others his age, they always left each other a note on the door or a message with the barkeep so there wasn't any awkward encounters. Still, trying to speak or write discretely to a ghost while in a small room with another person seemed near impossible. 

Alyosha justified leaving it be by guessing that Arrell was already there, even if he wasn't showing himself. At some point, the ghost would be able to read the room, as it were, and show himself out, right? By then, Alyosha realized the water was boiling. He put his worries out of his mind and prepared the tea for himself at Halek, both chamomile.

The paladin looked up from where he was staring at the myriad of notes and manuscripts when Alyosha put his cup on the corner of the desk closest to him. He looked nervous, like someone caught peeking at something he shouldn't, and Alyosha smiled at him before turning to get his own cup.

“I'll admit, my quarters aren't quite furnished for guests…” He sat down carefully on his bed, placing his tea on the shelf.

Alyosha saw Halek glance at the notes again. 

“I can give you a little of the background on my project if you like…” He gave an indulgent smile, leaning forward a little. He knew he shouldn't give away more than that little bit of knowledge, but he trusted that the paladin might take a different path if he presented it. 

“If you are willing to stay a little while, though, I have some other suggestions for how we could spend our time together…” Alyosha said, his voice dropping into a low, quiet tone he hadn't used in what felt like years.

He watched Halek’s shoulders relax a little, his gaze softening. “I see,” the paladin said, barely above a whisper. He did not pull back, looking at Alyosha with half-lidded eyes, so the Excarch closed the last bit of distance between them.

Then, there was that sound again, like bells.

Halek was instantly alert. The chair scraped on the floor as he sat back, eyes scanning the room.

“What was that?” he asked. The muscles in his neck looked as tense as the strings of an instrument.

“I-” Alyosha started, caught off-guard by the sudden change in behavior. “As I said, likely the neighbors—”

Halek's hand was in Alyosha’s hair, then, pulling, and the Exarch cried out in pain and surprise.

_ “Don't lie,”  _ said Halek, in a low, dangerous voice. “You set some kind of alarm.”

Alyosha couldn't think. This wasn’t Halek. Paladins did not turn on their own like this, no matter how hardened. Alyosha opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Not-Halek pulled on his braid again, voice rising. “Who does it go to?  _ Who are you calling?” _ .

The room shuddered.

Alyosha stumbled as Not-Halek pulled him into a more open part of the room, standing behind him. A cold wind blew around them, building fast. All the books jostled in their shelves.

“Your guard-dog won’t protect you,” said Not-Halek.

The wind was a howling vortex, now, cabinet doors slamming and things flying off the desk and shelves. Alyosha’s eyes watered trying to keep them open, his body trembling. He couldn’t hear anything over the din— until, suddenly, he could.

_ “Let him go,”  _ said a voice, a rumble that pierced through the cacophony.

Arrell.

Not-Halek sneered at the wind. “You don’t have the strength,” he shouted back. “You’re nothing but a half-remembered wisp!”

His hand tightened, pulling Alyosha’s head back at just the wrong angle. The Exarch could feel pain lance white-hot up his spine and down his legs, his knees buckling under him. He fell with a cry, but the sound was swallowed in the noise. In the haze as he tried to position himself so his back would stop sending shocks of pain through him, he thought he felt the weight of Not-Halek disappear behind him. Maybe he heard a crash. He struggled to turn to his side and see, loose hair whipping at his face.

When he was finally able to focus, Alyosha saw what truly was the ghost of Tutor Arrell. His form was bright white and blue like frost and lightning, his face twisted into a mask of pure animal rage. He crouched over the sprawled figure of Not-Halek like he was solid as anything, wrapping his hand around the man’s throat with a slow and grim determination. Alyosha tried to call out, to stop him from killing him, but he couldn’t hear anything even through the howling wind.

Then, something strange happened. Alyosha saw Arrell flex his hand, his fingers disappearing into the flesh of Not-Halek. Arrell grimaced, straining as he pulled up, up, until Alyosha saw with his very eyes as the wizard pulled another glowing spectre from the body of Halek.

The ghost looked nothing like the paladin they were inhabiting, with long corkscrew hair and priest-like robes. Instead of icy-blue, they glowed more of an aqua color. They squirmed in Arrell’s grip, snarling like a beast.

“Nothing but a wisp, you said?” said Arrell, grinning, his eyes still like fire.

He looked up briefly, legs bent like he meant to leap somewhere. There seemed to be another gale that came from him, knocking Alyosha back. Then, suddenly, Arrell and the other ghost were gone, leaving silence and stillness in their wake.

Alyosha sat in that silence for an unknown amount of time, only startled out of it when he a small groan across the room. He had forgotten he wasn’t alone; Halek was still where Arrell had thrown him against the shelves. The paladin shifted, and a couple books slid off of him and onto the floor.

“Exarch Alyosha?” he asked, squinting in the darkness of late dusk that had settled over the apartment. “What happened? Where am I?”

Alyosha let out a breath he realized he hadn’t been holding. It was just a possession, then— clean and simple. Now, he just had to find some way to explain it.

“You are in my apartment. You were accompanying me here when… something came over you. You were not yourself.” Alyosha glanced around the mess of the room, like a storm had passed through it. “It does seem to be over now, at least.”

Halek seemed to shrink into himself as the words sunk in. His voice was quiet and afraid when he spoke again. 

“Did I hurt you, Exarch?”

Alyosha tried to conjure a reassuring smile. “No, you didn’t hurt me, Halek. But, I did fall in the commotion…” He reached carefully to where his cane had fallen underneath the desk. “We should send a pigeon to the Prelate explaining what happened… ask to send a couple of your friends for you…”

The two of them struggled to get to the messenger house, but they managed. They stayed on a bench outside after, rather than try to go back to Alyosha’s apartment to wait. In the time it took for the pigeon to make its way to the Prelate and for the two paladins to walk to Wistful Peaks, Alyosha was able to get Halek’s recounting of events. According to him, he had felt a bit cold and drowsy in the afternoon, but didn’t think of it. He felt maybe a bit bolder, accepting Alyosha’s offer to walk with him, but then somewhere along the way, the drowsiness returned in full force, like a cold fog. He wasn’t able to remember anything from then until he woke again.

Halek’s shoulders slumped as he finished his story. “I’m… I’m so sorry Exarch…”

He took a breath to try and say something more, but he stopped when Alyosha placed a hand on his knee. Alyosha smiled at him, comforting.

“It’s alright, Halek,” he said.

Because he also wished he could apologize for what became of the evening, feeling somehow responsible for it, he leaned over and kissed the paladin, light and sweet. Halek smiled shyly after, rubbing at the short hairs on the back of his neck, but he did not try to kiss Alyosha again.

Alyosha tried to reassure Halek during their wait that he hadn’t done anything wrong and that everything was going to be okay, but the two paladins that arrived at Wistful Peaks did not greet Halek like a comrade. Their expressions were guarded, and when they left, they stuck close on either side of him, not holding him, but ready to if necessary. Alyosha watched them go, a horrible feeling coming to settle at the bottom of his stomach.

Even after resting, he barely made it back to his bed on his own. He had tried to explain what happened to Prelate Petro in the letter, that he would not be going to the church in the morning but was still alright, in hopes of not having to deal with the awkwardness of a home visit. Now, exhausted and uncertain if he would be even able to make it out of bed in the morning, he hoped that the Prelate would ignore him and come anyway, maybe with a healer in tow. 

He fell into such a fast and deep sleep after that that he didn’t even have time to wonder where Arrell was.

Alyosha wouldn’t hear from him again for yet another two days.

As he suspected, Prelate Petro came for a visit himself. After the healer checked Alyosha over, the Prelate sat down with him and explained that Halek was being looked after, and that there had been no further disturbances. Alyosha was relieved, despite already having reason to believe that would be the case. He didn’t suggest possession as a possible cause to the Prelate, and the Prelate didn’t, either.

Besides the visit, Alyosha spent most of his time in bed. A young priestling brought food for him since he couldn’t go out, and Alyosha, indulgently, gave them a small coin to get candy for themself on the way back. He ate, and slept, and read a little, all the while wondering, with some trepidation, when Arrell would return.

On the second day since the encounter, Alyosha was startled awake from a mid-morning nap by the sound of bells. The sound recalled the memory of Halek’s face and hand in his hair so strongly that it was disorienting for a moment. Alyosha rubbed his eyes, trying to push the fog of sleep from his mind. Once he had, he was able to remember what the ghost had said in Halek’s voice.

_ “Who are you calling?” _

Alyosha looked out into the empty, half-tidied apartment, wondering.

“...Tutor?” he finally asked.

“Alyosha,” a bit of space near him answered.

Alyosha sagged into his pillows with relief. 

“You frightened me,” he said for a moment. 

He almost added ‘again’ to that statement, and realized that it was the second time in as many weeks that the spirit had disappeared in a terrifying gale of rage.

No wonder he was so tired.

Of course, Arrell just scoffed and said,  _ “You _ were the one who tried to bed a possessed paladin.”

Alyosha pressed his lips together, both annoyed and a bit embarrassed.

“I didn’t know he was possessed,” he said, “Not until…”

Not until the bells.

Arrell seemed to catch onto Alyosha’s this time. “Ah, yes, the alarm. I did some research on spirit detection charms after our discussion about the Archives outpost. I was running some tests when you came back with your… guest.”

Alyosha sat up a little more. “So, the bells are to notify someone that a spirit has entered the range of the spell.”

“Of course, the caster isn’t exempt from its effects, or else it wouldn’t have gone off when I entered the apartment,” Arrell added with some frustration.

Alyosha eyed the patch of emptiness where he guessed the ghost to be with some wariness. “It is a bit of an inconvenience, but I’m sure you can find some way to alter it…”

“The other night was a bit  _ more _ than an  _ inconvenience, _ don’t you think?” Arrell snapped suddenly.

Alyosha blinked. “I suppose, but that wasn’t your fault—”

“They turned offensive because they heard the alarm,” Arrell insisted. There was just the smallest shiver in his voice. “You could have been  _ hurt.” _

Oh.

There was a long pause between the both of them.

Eventually, Alyosha was the one to break it. Something still bothered him about everything that happened that afternoon. “The other spirit knew what the spell was, but we didn’t even know it was possible before…”

Arrell made an affirmative noise. “They were a skilled magician, likely much older than I am.”

Alyosha gripped his blankets a little. “But why? Tutor—”

“Why is an advanced magician apparently going after you?” Arrell guessed. He even manifested, then, which Alyosha was surprised to see he had the strength to do. The wizard’s silvery face was grim as he approached him, like he was confiding dangerous secrets. Perhaps he was.

“I do not know,” Arrell said, quietly. “But, I  _ do _ have a lead on who they may be working for.”


End file.
